Slow Burn
by grrlinterrupted
Summary: A slashy OS inspired by a TwiKinkFest prompt: "Figging. Not much out there about this particular subject. Edward/Carlisle, pref. Edward feeling the burn." AH, a little OOC, some D/s themes.


**TwiKinkFest prompt: **Figging. Not much out there about this particular subject. Edward/Carlisle, pref. Edward feeling the burn.

**Glossary:  
><strong>Figging: a sexual act involving the insertion of a prepared "finger" of ginger root into the anus. This practice dates back to the Victorian era.  
>PFO: British medical slang meaning "pissed, fallen over".<br>Toad-in-the-Hole: A dish in which sausages are cooked in Yorkshire pudding (made from batter) and served with gravy.  
>Dorothy Dollar: Known as the Pink Pound in the UK, this phrase describes the purchasing power of the gay community.<p>

**A/N: **Huge thanks to HoochieMomma, kimpy0464 and sadtomato for their amazing help and support with commas, medical terms and popping my slash writing cherry respectively. The original prompt was posted anonymously, so to whoever inspired this little piece - thank you. I hope you like it!

* * *

><p><strong>Slow Burn<strong>

Edward Masen had a trust fund. Handsome as fuck, with a lithe, tall body, he was well educated, charismatic; desired. In his life very few people had told him "no", "wait", "maybe". Hell, very few had ever done less than smile in a saccharine manner and drop to their knees.

Which, I think, was why he wanted me.

When I first met Edward he was hobbling into the ER supported by two far less angelic-looking friends. They were all wearing posh dinner suits in various states of rumpled undress, and shuffled up to a nurse, demanding service. Unfortunately for them, they chose Nurse Hale, who told them to "Sit their pansy asses down!" in the general waiting area while furnishing them with a stack of forms and a terrifying expression. They quickly complied.

By the time I entered the exam room, Edward's companions had disappeared. When he stood to greet me, clearly still the worse for wear, he pitched forward and I had to grab his waist to steady him. This was apparently hilarious, as he giggled like a little boy while I manhandled him up onto the bed. Once he was fully reclined he pursed his lips in thought, concentrating very hard on positioning his leg in the least painful manner with the minimum movement. Poor sod.

I closed the curtains, then stuck out a hand. "I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen. I see you've injured your ankle?"

Our ensuing conversation was amusing if a little frustrating.

"I'm Edward Masen. You're very cu- ow! Stop that."

"Mr Masen, I ha-"

"Call me Edward."

"Edward. I have to check your range of movement." I gently felt over the tender, bruised skin.

"You're a Brit!"

"No, I just like pretending. Can you flex your foot?" I pressed softly on the ball to indicate how he should move. His resulting pout was adorable.

"Ow! Stop that."

"Mr- Edward, you are being rather difficult. I'm inclined to think your ankle did this to itself, with no intent on the part of the kerb. Now point your toe, please."

"I assure you - that hurts! - the fucking street had it in for me. Anyway, where were you trained? Ow! Hollywood Upstairs Medical College?"

I rolled my eyes and checked his Achilles tendon. He pulled his foot out of my grasp with a horrified face.

"Cambridge. And if you don't lie still in the next two seconds I'm afraid I'll have to bring out some restraints."

I may have winked.

"Ooh, now you're talking." He seemed to have become remarkably sober all of a sudden, his eyes twinkling seductively in the fluorescents. He licked his lips, and leaned up on his elbows, perusing me with an appreciative gaze.

"Maybe I should just tranquilise you?" I pretending to consider it. He ignored me.

"So what's wrong with me, Doc?" He asked wiggling his toes. "Will I walk again?"

"I doubt it. These sorts of localised sprains can even be fatal." I picked up his chart, noting the details of my preliminary exam."Although bionics have come a long way in the past few years, so I wouldn't worry."

"They will call me Masentron... I will be an evil genius!" He fluttered his eyelashes, looking disgustingly sexy. I gave up, and showed him my sternest look.

"I'm handing you over to Nurse Hale-"

"Nooooooo!"

"-have fun in Radiology."

Following the examination I sent him to get an x-ray. During this procedure he apparently informed the radiographer that I was far more attractive than anyone at the champagne ball which was the cause of his mishap, then continued to discuss my relative merits with the hospital porters and the nurses in the cast centre. Of course, the entire department was aware of this in approximately twenty minutes.

_I_ next saw him again, however, as he was being escorted from the premises by a handsome older man with an irate expression. He caught me signing scripts at the nurses station by the exit and hobbled over, complete with crutches and a dazzling grin.

"Doctor Cullen!" My own traitorous smile responded immediately.

"Is something the matter, Mr Masen?"

He smoothed down his mop of reddish hair.

"Can I take you out? For fixing me up."

I hesitated. I'd been propositioned only once since I arrived in the States, although that had been swiftly resolved by mentioning both my sexual orientation and the Clinical Misconduct Committee.

"I... don't think that would be appropriate."

Edward's smirk turned positively filthy.

"I won't tell if you won't. I know you're gay, I asked around. The female staff, by the way, are pretty pissed about the fact. The men not so much."

I frowned. "Goodbye, Edward."

Luckily, his injury and hospital security managed to prevent him from following me into the hall, although nothing stopped him drifting into my thoughts when I sat at home later, sipping a gin and tonic and trying to relax.

I'd always disliked his sort - he was clearly wealthy and used to getting his own way - but regardless, my mind was fixated on his beauty. He'd lain silent, barring the odd sleepy snuffle, as I superficially bandaged his hurt ankle to take the pressure from the torn ligaments inside, my heart beating faster every time I glanced up at his body. Even his feet were handsome - long, with delicate bones and a light dusting of hair.

My fingers twitched as I wondered how he was healing. I hoped he was feeling better. Despite his irritating sense of entitlement he'd been funny, boyish. He'd charmed me, the bastard.

Later, lying in bed, I let my fingers drift under the waistband of my pajama bottoms, and found myself rubbing my hardening dick as my mind's eye explored his red lips, hard jaw, and slender fingers.

I'd fantasized about other staff members before: a cute physiotherapist when I'd worked in the Royal Brompton orthopaedic ward; a surgeon at Guy's; but never a patient. Somehow my mind had set them off limits, or had used to.

As I touched myself, pulling at my foreskin and rolling my balls, a fantasy developed.

_How dare he tempt me like that?_ I thought. _He must have known I couldn't. But obviously things aren't usually denied to Mr PFO. And obviously he couldn't give a shit about my job._

In my head he was over my lap in minutes, naked, begging and getting louder with every spank. His hands gripped my legs as I reddened his arse, his messy hair damp with sweat, cock pulsing.

I came so quickly and so hard I had no time to grab some tissues, and had to change the damn sheets.

The next day, a bouquet of orange roses was waiting for me on the hospital's reception desk when I arrived, hair still wet from the shower and mint on my breath.

The note read: "Change your mind. Fuck the rules." When I turned it over, I realised it was a business card from Masen Industries, and a flush covered my chest.

I wanted to ignore it; ignore him. Hospital policy was very specific, with no room for manoeuvre on appropriate patient/staff interaction. I left the flowers with our lovely receptionist, Alice, and went to speak to the boss.

"Got a bit of an issue; I want to mention it now, in case anything else... happens."

Victoria closed her office door softly and returned to her desk, gesturing for me to sit.

"A patient I saw made a pass at me. I refused, of course, but he has now sent me flowers. Here, to the emergency room."

She tried to hide a grin, but was entirely unsuccessful.

"I was expecting this."

I raised my eyebrows, and possibly gaped a little.

"Oh, come on Carlisle," she purred, gesturing in the general area of my face.

I fidgeted awkwardly. There was something worryingly predatory in her gaze and I most certainly did not want her to expand on whatever she'd been anticipating. Her short, leading phrases were quite enough.

She shook her head in an apparent mix of mild frustration and amusement. "Just don't see him until one month after he's been discharged."

"That's it?"

She nodded, a conspiratorial expression twisting her feline features. I was out of the room in seconds.

As the day progressed, I argued with myself about where to go from here. It was unlikely that I'd be able to stop him from harassing both my subconscious and my place of work if I tried to ignore him.

Plus, making Edward wait might be _extremely _enjoyable.

I fingered the card in my pocket, and began to draft the email I would send to him that evening.

_From: Carlisle Cullen_  
><em>To: E Masen<em>  
><em>Subject: Apparently, October is the cruellest month<em>

_Dear Mr Masen,_

_Thank you for the roses you had delivered today, even if it was rather embarrassing to receive such a gesture at St Catherine's. With regards to your rather rude demand, and having sought advice from our hospital lawyer, I'm afraid any sort of meeting outside the remit of patient treatment could only occur one month from discharge without severe repercussions._

_Now, I'm sure you couldn't bear it if I was unable to retain my position due to improper conduct, so I will ask that you please not contact me until 7pm on October 28th, at which point, presuming you're still interested, you may buy me a glass of single malt with one ice cube at the New Moon on East 23rd Street. _

_Yours, very seriously and with one of those faces that means "don't fuck this up",_

_Dr Carlisle Cullen_

_P.S. I hope your ankle is feeling better. Don't forget to keep it elevated when sitting._

His reply, approximately two minutes after I'd clicked send, made me laugh out loud.

_From: E Masen_  
><em>To: Carlisle Cullen<em>  
><em>Subject: Re: Apparently, October is the cruellest month<em>

_Dear Carlisle,_

_I'll just buy you the bottle._

_Love,_

_Edward_

_P.S. Am feeding my ankle ice cream and letting it watch The Young and The Restless. It doesn't like General Hospital as much - the flashbacks are too painful._

_P.P.S. You talk purty._

For most of the day on the 28th my stomach was floating somewhere near my throat. In the afternoon, when it got really bad, I even started hoping for a massive car accident or industrial explosion: _something _to distract me... then I realised Edward Masen was turning me into a sick bastard and attempted to focus on other people's impending vomit, rather than my own.

At 6:45pm, after changing quickly in the doctor's lounge, I found myself sitting in a booth at the back of the bar drinking a beer far too fast. My left leg bounced up and down, but I managed to stop myself from peeling and shredding the bottle's label, at least.

As I waited, I tried to work out why I was so nervous. It had been a long time since I'd been on a date, I supposed. I'd left London needing a fresh start from everything involving Aro, and had decided a while across the pond would be good for me. Three years later, I still hadn't been out with anyone. I hadn't even been kissed. I'd thrown myself into work, instead, learning the different ways American hospitals operated compared to the NHS, the alternative medical terminology and slang terms for body parts and procedures. I'd made some friends, found a flat... just lived.

The thought of trying to get involved in the scene here had always been something I'd been interested in, of course, but it kept getting put off. I suppose Aro still had quite a firm grip on me. I hated that, but I hated the thought of risking my heart even more. Our break up had been messy and cruel - he'd ended up in some kind of polyamorous situation with two other men, and seeing him at clubs and bars was just... too much. I'd felt discarded.

Still, I argued with myself. Edward was definitely not my usual type. We'd have a drink, decide we weren't suited, and go our separate ways. This was good - getting back into things without any real risk.

As my musing resolved it was interrupted by a pale hand sliding a glass onto the table in front of me. Ice bobbed in amber liquid and my eyes shot up to see him settling in, a devastating grin on his face.

"Edward... good evening." I blurted, torn from my thoughts.

"Still so formal! You shouldn't be - we could go and fuck in the alley behind the dumpsters right now and the hospital board wouldn't mind."

My mouth fell open, momentarily lost in the ridiculously hot, yet also slightly grimy, situation he'd described, before I regained my composure. I swallowed.

"I don't know... I think they're still rather opposed to indecent exposure arrests. It's a shame, but you Americans are just so pious."

"Not all of us."

"Oh, really?"

I returned his smirk with one of my own, and a beat passed before we both started sniggering like school boys. He held his hand out to me to shake, his grip warm and firm.

As the evening progressed he told me about his ankle (nicely healed), his job (ridiculously paid, daddy-influenced) and his reputation, only somewhat deserved, as something of a playboy. He asked countless questions about England, which had somehow evaded his travels to Europe (too cold and miserable, apparently) and I almost got him believing I'd attended the Royal Wedding before my shocking poker face let me down.

He was fascinating, though, even as his attitude alarmed me. He'd make me laugh uproariously, or surprise me with insightful thoughts on politics or philosophy, then summon the bar staff as if they were his valet. It was disconcerting, but did help alleviate the tension I felt about my own situation. I could use his overprivileged, arrogant behaviour to keep back that part of me that might so easily have fallen for him.

Regardless, I ended up with his lips on my neck at midnight in the very alley we'd previously discussed.

He'd grabbed me as we left the bar, pulling me into the dark, brick-lined shelter and then pressing his mouth to mine, fast and needy. He tasted of beer and whiskey and felt so fucking delicious; his stubble scratching my chin as his fingers passed over my nipples, already so sensitive to his touch.

My cock had responded embarrassingly quickly, too, as he began to grind his slim hips against me, and I failed to swallow my resulting moan.

"Christ... Edward..."

"I know, right?" he said, between nips to my earlobes. "I feel _good_."

I jerked back in surprise.

"You little -"

"Easy, Carlisle. I'm taller than you," he teased, quirking an eyebrow. And suddenly I realised what he wanted. Or what he was going to get, at least.

I shoved him forcefully against the wall, biting his bottom lip and thrusting my erection against his stomach. As I pulled back, I grabbed his crotch roughly, squeezing and twisting just a little too hard. When he began to grimace I relented, cupping his cock and balls in my hand as if weighing them.

"Yeah?" I said, up on my toes so our noses brushed. "Well, I'm bigger."

I pushed away from the wall, putting some distance between our bodies, and reclaiming my wayward emotions. He was a little slumped, palming his abused dick, but his crooked smile belied his stance.

I strode around the corner and hailed a passing taxi, my heart beating in my ears.

The next day an email was waiting for me as I scrolled sleepily through my inbox before work.

_From: E Masen_  
><em>To: Carlisle Cullen<em>  
><em>Subject: When...<em>

_...can I see you again? I want more._

_E_

The brevity of his response was pleasing. It felt like I was finally seeing him, and not some persona he'd created for the Board, or his friends from the bloody Yale boat club. I quickly replied, sending him my address along with instructions on when he could come by.

That night was the first, second and third time we fucked.

This evening, however, was going to be slightly different. Edward and I had been working over the past two months on exploring our kinks and on being more open. As well as plenty of vanilla sex, we'd played around with plugs, nipple clamps, and a delightful array of whips and floggers which made his face blush as beautifully as his bottom.

We'd also just spent time together; watching movies, cooking (he had quickly and understandably become obsessed with both the name and flavour of Toad-in-the-Hole), and talking. After a long shift, I wanted to do nothing other than cuddle Edward while he told me about his latest scheme for market domination with a product which would make his father cringe. He'd recently discovered the old man twitched every time his son used the phrase "Dorothy Dollar", so he'd taken every opportunity to enjoy that during meetings with the board.

Despite this, yesterday's benefit gala had been the first time we'd been out in public together, as a couple. I winced as I remembered him parading me around the party like a trophy, announcing to people all the _good work_ I did, and how I was from poor old England with our _crazy _socialist medicine. I left by 11 o'clock, pissed off and slightly drunk, although Edward claimed he was none the wiser.

"But you were so charming!" he'd complained on the phone. "Everyone loved you! How was I to know you were mad?"

"Edward, there are such things as decorum and civility."

It was bullshit. He was winding me up on purpose because he knew what it would get him. He didn't seem to understand that I would happily spank him for a month regardless of his smart mouth.

This time, though, I don't think he'd reckoned on my... creativity.

"I'll come over tonight. We'll talk," he'd said, distractedly. Then, "Sorry babe, call waiting."

I may have snapped a pencil in half involuntarily, like Clark Kent but with less grace. I spent the next fifteen minutes pulling splinters out of my palm in exam room four. _"Babe"_. Ugh.

He arrived on time, at least, bearing a bottle of sherry as a peace offering. I wasn't interested. As soon as the door was shut, I laid out my instructions.

"What's your safe word?" I prompted.

"Eclipse."

I nodded.

"Take off your clothes." My tone brooked no argument, although I was a little surprised that he was being so very compliant. His grin almost touched my lips, but I managed to stay sombre as he stripped off down to his boxers, then discarded them, too. When he was completely naked, cock half hard and bobbing lightly, I turned.

"Follow me."

I led him into my bedroom. He gave me a questioning look as he saw my bed unadorned with toys or rope, the blue covers neatly made, but I gestured forward.

"Lie face down with a pillow under your hips."

His smirk as he moved into position was arrogant and greedy. I tried to give him my best angry look, but Edward's confidence had never known boundaries and he lay quietly smirking as I handcuffed his wrists and ankles to the headboard and feet of the bed with thick leather restraints.

Despite my previous fury, I had to admire him like that. He looked so fucking beautiful spread out, his pale, flawless skin completely exposed. Still, for the next few hours it was mine to enjoy, so I stepped out for a second and fetched my equipment from the kitchen.

"What have you got there?" he asked, trying to tilt his head to see when I returned with a chopping board, scissors, a paring knife and... a large finger of ginger root.

"Oh, you'll never guess."

I'd been introduced to figging through an ex-boyfriend years ago, and had enjoyed - if that was the right word - its charms plenty of times since. It's something of a marvel, really - the ginger oils cause a deep, burning sting for a short period of time - about twenty minutes - then fade, leaving behind the sort of arousal which only usually only comes from marathon sessions with a library of Corbin Fisher's _American College Men_. When in Rome, you know?

The practice is completely harmless, and dates all the way back to Victorian times, when it was used in a variety of ways, from perking up lacklustre race horses to preventing wives from clenching during punishment spanks. Luckily, now we knew the meanings of animal cruelty and feminism, I could use it to torture my gorgeous wanker of a boyfriend.

As I removed the thick, woody skin in strips to preserve as much of the root as possible, the scent wafted up the room. I could practically feel his curiosity radiating towards me.

"Is that..? What is that? Are you cooking?"

"In a way."

I began fashioning the root, taking the largest finger and forming it into a plug with a circular valley around the thickest end, to hold it in place. I tried not to press too hard, but still ginger oils spilled onto my fingers, the spicy, scented juice coating my hands.

I could see Edward shifting a little, and I knew he was already hard. Being ignored; being teased; being made to wait and suffer and _behave_; those were his deepest desires. They never, ever failed to send blood rushing to his cock.

Once I was happy with my creation, I climbed onto the foot of the bed between his open legs and began to stroke his bare arse.

"Such a pretty bottom, on _such _a disgraceful man." I mused, slapping it lightly and spreading the cheeks open. I felt him tense a little, unsure of what was happening, so I bent forward and soothed his uncertainty with some warm, wet licks to his puckered hole. He let out a long, low moan, and immediately opened for me, panting as I probed him, rubbing his inner muscles with my tongue.

When he was fully stretched out, his body reclining like a cat, I lubed him up and gently placed the finger of ginger at his entrance.

"Edward, I just need you to let this in, darling."

He enthusiastically complied, and the end of the ginger root slid in with ease. I began working it forward - it was a little less than an inch wide at the largest point - and it slipped in very quickly, the oils providing more fluid to help it move.

A moment later, the fun began.

"Carlisle... what is... this... _shit_... Carlisle?"

I washed my hands in the little sink of my en suite, making sure to remove all traces of the juice, then returned to the bedroom. Edward's face was buried in the remaining pillow, his hair in disarray as if shaken out. I chuckled.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"It hurts. _Fuck_! It hurts."

I began to undress as he squirmed, humping the bed for some distracting friction.

"Edward, unfortunately we just have to do this. You've been really very naughty, and you need to understand that, don't you?"

"Yes. But... fuck!"

"Tell me how it feels."

I tickled his feet lightly, knowing it would make him twitch away and clench his arse.

"Shit! Stop! It's burning... like a sharp burning."

"Yes, that sounds right."

I brought my hand down across his cheeks, not hard, but enough to make him clench again and groan.

"And I know you're secretly loving this, aren't you?"

A noncommittal whimper. Another light spank.

"You're lying there, all tied up, with a poor, burning arsehole, moaning away like the little slut you are. But I bet if I reach underneath your stomach your cock will be begging for me."

"_Please_, Carlisle. Take it out, please!"

"_Are _you hard, Edward?"

Another smack, this time a little harsher, eliciting a cry of pleasured pain.

"Yes! Fuck, I'm hard. You know I'm hard."

"Good. See? One part of you can behave."

"I can... I will... fuck, it fucking hurts so much, Carlisle, _please_..."

I played along. Edward _loved _to beg.

"Do you want me to stop it burning you? To lick your hole clean and rub in some cool lotion?"

"Yes! God, yes."

"Oh, darling. I'm afraid you've got plenty more to suffer first."

His shoulders dropped and I began reddening his cheeks thoroughly. The marks left by my fingers and his progressively louder cries made my cock weep with precum, and as his whimpers turned to grunts, I couldn't ignore it any longer.

I moved up the bed and stroked his hair, kneeling in front of his face. I'd purposefully left the cuffs long enough for him to rise up a little on his elbows, and he complied wordlessly as I presented him with my dick, wrapping his lips around it and sucking greedily.

"Such a good boy, now," I praised as he squirmed. The distraction of the spanking was wearing off, and the ginger still easily had five minutes of torture remaining. The only thing he had left to think about was my cock.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle," he mumbled, his mouth muffled with foreskin as he pushed it down with his tongue. "I just got carried away... I know I can be such an epic jerk off."

"Hey," I broke character for a moment as his unexpected acknowledgement melted me, "it's all right. It's just ginger - it'll wear off soon. Then the real fun starts."

He looked a little confused, but dove back down as the last of the oil burned his arse, licking and sucking me like a fucking pro.

I reached behind and felt my own hole; I'd spent some time preparing myself before Edward had arrived. It had been a long time since I'd been fucked, and playing with dildos definitely wasn't the same as having someone else's cock inside you, under their control.

"It _is _starting to feel a little better..."

Edward's sheepish smile was adorable as he propped himself up on his arms. His hips were raised a little - the tell tale sign of a cock so hard it can't be lain on anymore. I moved down to his bottom and wiggled the ginger just a little, checking for any breaks in the plug. It looked intact, so I began releasing Edward's legs and arms.

When he rolled over to stretch, my eyes bugged out of their sockets. He was huge - harder than I'd ever seen him - veins bulging out on his cock as it stood deliciously erect.

I launched myself at him, tangling my hands in his hair and groaning deeply as our cocks met, rubbing skin on skin, his tightening balls caressing mine. He rolled us quickly and then slid off the bed to grab the lube.

"Um, may I... take it out now?" he asked. God I loved it when he was like this; sweet and unsure and fucking polite.

"You don't need to." I grinned, getting on all fours on the bed and spreading my legs apart. My intention was clear. I don't think I'd ever seen him move so fast.

Suddenly, lubed fingers were pushing inside me, stretching me, first one, then quickly two, and finally a third to the unmistakable sound of a condom being unwrapped and rolled on.

"I can't wait much longer... Carlisle... fuck... I _need_ you."

"Just fuck me, Edward. Now." My patience was nonexistent. Every time I caught a glimpse of his cock, I could barely contain my desire.

I felt his swollen head at my asshole, then suddenly stars and blackness exploded behind my eyes as he thrust himself inside me. Fuck, he hurt - he was so big and so hard and it'd been _so long_ - but my _God _he felt so fucking good I thought I might come then and there.

He grabbed beneath me and pulled hard on my nipples, dragging me back to the moment as he began to pound in earnest. Quickly, the initial twinges were replaced by a delicious fullness, and as he hit my prostate I collapsed. Cum spurted in long strings up the bed as I clenched hard around his twitching cock. He followed quickly, his primal cries lasting longer than I'd ever heard them.

We lay there afterwards, a mess of cum and sweat and ginger, holding hands and grinning like fools.

"Bath?" I offered, as I kissed his wet brow and gently felt between his legs for the plug. He moaned softly as I pulled it free, planting more kisses on his eyelids, nose, lips and ears.

In the steamy atmosphere of the bathroom a few minutes later I carefully washed his arse, soaping it thoroughly but so very slowly, before moving on to his soft, spent cock.

He leaned back against my chest, a beatific smile making him more, impossibly, gorgeous. When he spoke it was low and quiet but sweet. He interlocked our fingers under the soapy water.

"I think I'm falling for you."

My throat caught at his openness, and I realised how much _I'd _been holding back, determined not to get hurt.

It was pointless. Whether I wanted to or not, I'd already let Edward in.

I kissed his shoulder and jaw, and then turned his head to mine. Nose to nose I told him what I should have known unprompted.

"It's too late for me, too."

He laughed, and kissed me as my hands held his lips to mine, the slow, burning scent of ginger drifting in the air.

* * *

><p>Thank you so much for reading - I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to try figging yourself there's plenty of information online. Good luck!<p> 


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